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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29466708">My Sanity On The Funeral Pyre: A Collection of Bioshock Mini Fics</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfermann/pseuds/Wolfermann'>Wolfermann</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>BioShock 1 &amp; 2 (Video Games), BioShock Infinite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Burial At Sea Booker, Frank Fontaine is a freak and I love him, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Nosebleed, fruit (derogatory)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:53:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29466708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfermann/pseuds/Wolfermann</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a collection of prompts from Tumblr set within the larger Bioshock universe </p><p>1. Booker Dewitt/Frank Fontaine- The two most dangerous men in and out of Rapture size one another up while Dewitt struggles through another one of his "episodes".</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Booker Dewitt/Frank Fontaine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>My Sanity On The Funeral Pyre: A Collection of Bioshock Mini Fics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Weeeeee. It's been about five years since I've wrote anything Bioshock related and the first time I've posted anything to AO3. And now my dear Hungry-Hobbits gave me something to work off of for our extremely terrible rarepair. Luv U</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That’s starting to get annoying.” Frank Fontaine mused as he passed his suffering partner a handkerchief, digging it out from the pocket of his suit jacket that lay abandon on his desk. The Private Investigator thanks him gruffly pinching his steadily bleeding nose and tilting his head back.</p><p>“You’re telling me.” Booker grumbled back at him. The PI just.... did this from time to time. Frank hadn’t known him for long, Dewitt wasn’t exactly the type to fit in with his circle of friends and acquaintances. Fontaine actively tried to avoid cops as much as humanly possible, but there was just something about the man that got his attention. <em>Like equals like</em>. So he had hired him for a few smaller jobs; finding workers that had gone missing in the great fishbowl known as Rapture and working security at Fontaine Futuristic themed events. It was minor jobs but when it was just the two of them, Booker kept good company. He made Frank laugh and he made a good drink.</p><p>More and more mister tall, dark, and handsome kept creeping up into the conman’s personal life. It started with drinks and cards, then ended with bruises and new stains to his desk... sheets... walls... his bathysphere... Frank didn’t indulge in men often, he was known as quite the ladies man in Rapture and on par with the likes of Andrew Ryan. He wasn’t a degenerate like Sander Cohen with his constantly growing harem of men half his age. But Fontaine had his vices and men who were roguishly handsome, big, and mean made his blackened heart flutter.</p><p>Regardless, Booker bled without much provocation, a simple phrase could turn him into a bloody puddle and he wouldn’t go back to “normal” for a good hour or two. Dewitt called it an old war wound, from taking part in the Seventh Calvary.</p><p>Frank called it indulging in too much blow. The funniest part, at least in the conman’s (bald) head, was that Dewitt was trying to lie to a professional liar. He had done some digging into Booker because he liked to keep tabs on everyone he employed and/or fucked. But for some reason he couldn’t find what war the PI had even served in. He had assumed it had been the Second World War but Booker never named anything specific. It appeared Detective Dewitt has manifested in Rapture one day, no topside history or paper trail following him. He was an enigma but Fontaine liked a good mystery from time to time.</p><p>“Hey c’mere.” Fontaine beckoned the taller man forward with one finger. Booker looked at him with wary green eyes, they matched the ocean swirling outside of his office and illuminating the room with sickly blueish tint. Dewitt gave in after deciding to trust the man (a mistake on his part), standing before Frank, still clutching the slowly turning crimson handkerchief like an old Betty clutching her pearls. Fontaine soothed him, muttering encouragements in his harsh Bronx manner before reaching up to take the helm.</p><p>“You gotta tilt your head down. It feels better this way.” He muttered, pinching the cloth with one hand while using his other to fist through the back Booker’s chestnut brown hair, persuading the man to lean down. Dewitt grunted once in protest but allowed himself to be manhandled. Frank knew a thing or two about nose bleeds from his indulgences and favorite pastimes, with how frequently these occurred he thought the PI would have been better at caring for himself. But knowing him, he wasn’t very good at that at all.</p><p>Booker let go of his nose and grabbed onto Frank’s wrist instead, gripping it to keep the shorter man in place and maybe for a bit of comfort. His old scars from the odd brand “AD” displayed perfectly before the con man. He had asked before about it and Booker had shrugged, claiming it was something he had always had. Fontaine couldn’t help but think that branding yourself wasn’t something you just shrugged off but he likes the way the AD looked when the PI wrapped his large hands around his throat.</p><p>Frank’s cognac brown eyes flickered between the hand and his acquaintance’s eyes, which gazed down at him with an intensity that interested him. They were studying one another, almost sizing the other man up like two apex predators encountering the other in the wild. Booker appeared to be a bumbling drunk cop on the surface but deep down there was something darker to him, something dangerous that Frank wasn’t sure he wanted to see step into the light. But if he could utilize it when the right time came along.... <em>now wouldn’t that be fun</em>.</p><p>Buying a man’s loyalty came easy in Rapture. After all, all he had to do was pay off a few of the PI’s debts and he was already happy to work for him, even happier to crawl into Fontaine’s bed. If- no when he needed him, he would be there.</p><p>It’s too bad Reggie did his job well, Frank quietly reflected. He could use Booker as another piece of muscle to guard him around town. The man was big, even his grip on the conman’s wrist was a bit uncomfortable with the lightest pressure. But perhaps he was best enjoyed alone, out of the gaze of Ryan or Sinclair. Ryan didn’t need any more information on him and Augustus Sinclair was another mystery in the mix. Frank never knew which side the southern fruit was on, as it seemed to change day by day and long winded conversation by <em>Jesus Christ how long can one fella listen to himself talk</em>?</p><p>After getting lost long enough in his own train of thoughts, Frank released his hand from the older man’s nose. He still held the handkerchief in place, just in case Dewitt still bled. Whatever fit he was going through seemed to have passed and he was back to the bumbling Booker Fontaine knew all too well.</p><p>“Better?” He cocked a dark brow as the PI released his hold on him, removing the cloth to blot away any additional blood staining his upper lip.</p><p>“Yeah something like that.” Booker grumbled, Fontaine watched with sickening amusement as the older man licked his upper lip clean. He wished for only a second that it was his tongue licking it away. “Heh... Didn’t know you had a soft spot for me.” Frank couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the PI.</p><p>“Don’t get used to it, <em>sweetheart</em>.”</p>
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